Preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the earth. There wasthat bustling stir which breaks so harshly on the feelings of griefand affection; directions given in the cold tones of business: thestriking of spades into sand and gravel; which, at the grave ofthose we love, is, of all sounds, the most withering. The bustlearound seemed to waken the mother from a wretched reverie. Sheraised her glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As themen approached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, shewrung her hands, and broke into an agony of grief. The poor womanwho attended her took her by the arm, endeavoring to raise her fromthe earth, and to whisper something like consolation- "Nay, now-nay, now- don't take it so sorely to heart." She could only shakeher head and wring her hands, as one not to be comforted.
As they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking of the cordsseemed to agonize her; but when, on some accidental obstruction, therewas a justling of the coffin, all the tenderness of the mother burstforth; as if any harm could come to him who was far beyond the reachof worldly suffering.
I could see no more- my heart swelled into my throat- my eyes filledwith tears- I felt as if I were acting a barbarous part in standingby, and gazing idly on this scene of maternal anguish. I wandered toanother part of the church-yard, where I remained until the funeraltrain had dispersed.
When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting the grave,leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear to her on earth,and returning to silence and destitution, my heart ached for her.
What, thought I, are the distresses of the rich! they have friendsto soothe- pleasures to beguile- a world to divert and dissipate theirgriefs. What are the sorrows of the young! Their growing minds soonclose above the wound- their elastic spirits soon rise beneath thepressure- their green and ductile affections soon twine round newobjects. But the sorrows of the poor, who have no outward appliancesto soothe- the sorrows of the aged, with whom life at best is but awintry day, and who can look for no after-growth of joy- the sorrowsof a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only son,the last solace of her years; these are indeed sorrows which make usfeel the impotency of consolation.
It was some time before I left the church-yard. On my way homeward Imet with the woman who had acted as comforter: she was justreturning from accompanying the mother to her lonely habitation, and Idrew from her some particulars connected with the affecting scene Ihad witnessed.